


Eyes of Sapphire, Smile of Pearls

by booksblanketsandtea



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksblanketsandtea/pseuds/booksblanketsandtea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock Holmes owns a jewellery store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes of Sapphire, Smile of Pearls

 

 

A/N: written for the prompt that [](http://yourebrilliant.livejournal.com/profile)[ **yourebrilliant**](http://yourebrilliant.livejournal.com/)   (who is, indeed brilliant) posted in Make Me a Monday - week 45. Enjoy! :)

 

 

~

 

 

 

Sherlock Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to three, doing his best not to yell at the man in front of him. It was a Friday afternoon, nearing on Friday evening and this _bumbling fool_ had been looking through the shop’s vast collection of jewellery for at least an hour and a half. Sherlock’s patience was wearing thin. The man, who had waved Sherlock’s assistance away when he first entered _**SH Jewellery**_ , looked up from the glass case of rings he was looking over.

“Oh. Hi.” the man started, running a hand through his – _salt and pepper hair, slightly tanned skin, relaxed but alert posture, automatically stands in a fighting stance, probably something to do with law enforcement, maybe security? No, too self-aware and confident; a DI, then_ – hair, obviously realising Sherlock’s impatience was directed at him.  
  
“Are you closing? Sorry, I’ll just come back another time-”  
  
“No, you won’t.”

 

The man raises an eyebrow and Sherlock stalks around the counters that outline his shop to where the man is standing, the case of rings separating them.

  
“You have been browsing through my shop for nearly – two hours now? Good _Lord_ you are indecisive. As I was saying; you will _not_ come back. You clearly have no clue what you are looking for – a ring, obviously, but you are unsure what style, cut or even what gemstone – or even whether or not you should get a ring _with_ a gemstone. You probably don’t even know the correct size. No, it is time I stepped in.” Sherlock stopped and cocked his head to the left. “Tell me about them. Your intended.”

  
The man blushes slightly and looks over his shoulder as another man – _5’9”, military, been abroad recently, probably invalid home from.. Afghanistan? Or Iraq? One of the two, certainly, but probably the former_ – limps into the shop. Sherlock nods politely to the newcomer before turning back to the man in front of him, who has relaxed at the sight of the ex-soldier; he is no doubt wary that his intended could be the next through the door (however unlikely the odds).

  
“Well – he, uh. He’s... brilliant, really” starts the man and Sherlock resists the urge to roll his eyes. “He’s incredibly smart, he always knows just what to say. He’s confidant – some think he's aloof, or arrogant. He's not. He's actually kind of shy - not that you'd know it, but there's times when I think i'm the only one who really knows him. He's kind, but determined and he’s-” 

  
“Yes, okay fine” said Sherlock, interrupting. He takes his keys from around his neck and unlocks the case, barely looking as he selects a simple gold band with a single with a simple but rather beautifully engraved design. He holds the ring out for the man to inspect.  
“Here. This ring, this is the one.”

  
“Wh- yes, that’s... actually that’s perfect! How did you-”

  
“From what you told me of your intended, I deducted that he’s a man who enjoys the finer things in life, but who also appreciates simplicity and straightforwardness. This ring is both elegant and understated. He’ll love it. Now _please_ , for the sake of my declining sanity, just buy it and _leave_!”

  
The man does so without much more fuss and Sherlock almost lets himself heave a sigh of relief before he remembers that he is not yet alone. He turns to find the other man standing across the case from him, an impressed look on his face. The man is on the short side (nearly everybody is, compared to Sherlock) with short, dirty blonde hair that screams military, even without taking the limp and sun-weathered skin into account.

  
“That was amazing” he says, and Sherlock – for some, ridiculous reason that he refuses to acknowledge – feels himself start to blush.

  
“Pardon?”

  
“You barely had to hear two sentences about that man’s boyfriend and you – apparently – picked out the perfect ring within seconds. That’s... incredible. Quite incredible.” 

  
Sherlock tries not to feel too pleased and waves a hand. “A simple matter of deduction. Now, what do you want?”

Rather than being put-off by Sherlock's abrasive manner, the man simply takes it in stride, sapphire eyes lightening slightly in amusement. “I’m looking for either a bracelet or necklace, not sure which yet, but something in silver. Harry can’t wear gold, apparently. Not that I’m complaining.”

  
Sherlock hums, ignoring the slight twinge of what he refuses to acknowledge as disappointment.

  
“Okay. Tell me about – her? I’m presuming Harry is an endearment, short for Harriet?”

  
The man nods and he sighs, shifting his legs slightly – _psychosomatic, he’s not favouring it at all now that he’s standing still, probably wounded in action; definitely soldier. Ex-Soldier, actually, but something else, something doesn’t fit_ – and grins humorlessly. 

  
“Harry – or, yes, Harriet – is... hard to explain. She’s energetic, loud, attention seeking and, pardon the language, a pain in the arse at times. I mean, I love her, but Christ she can get on my nerves. Never fought with anyone the way I fight with her-”

  
“And you invaded Afghanistan” Sherlock quips, and the man stops and stares at him with shocked eyes that turn wary at the edges.

  
“I- yes, I did. Well, not just me, obviously. But yes. How did you know?”

  
Sherlock reels off the list of things he’s noticed about the man since he came in, and the man is staring again by the time he is finished.

  
“That’s fantastic.” He says and his admiration is genuine which makes Sherlock pause.

  
“That’s not what people normally say.”

  
“What do people normally say?”

  
“Piss off” Sherlock grins at him and suddenly they’re giggling together and Sherlock hasn’t felt this... this good; this _alive_ since the time the shop got broken into and he bet the police in their own investigation. He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but suddenly he’s offering his hand to this – _incredible, unbelievable, handsome_ – soldier across the ring case where they still stand.

  
“Name’s Sherlock Holmes” he says, and the man’s grip is warm and strong in his own as they shake.

  
“Doctor John Watson”  
 

  
_Army Doctor. Of course._  
 

“Well then, Doctor Watson-”  
 

“John, please” he says with a smile, eyes twinkling up at Sherlock ( _and he really is rather short, isn’t he?_ But Sherlock doesn’t know why that’s important right now, so ignores it).  
 

“Very well, John. Let’s see what we can find for this Harriet of yours.”  
 

Sherlock swoops around the shop, going over what John had said about Harry in his head and eventually landing on a bracelet. It has a single diamond at the top centre of the metal, which has been fashioned to look like one link splitting in on itself; the metal twisting repeatedly until it’s impossible to tell whether it started out as a single loop or a double. As it is, it’s simply a stunning, tightly twisted double helix of shining silver and Sherlock can tell almost immediately that it will be perfect for John’s loud, attention seeking Harriet. He glances at John to gauge his reaction, feels yet another twinge of not-disappointment when he sees that eyes are no longer crinkley and smiling. Sherlock worries at how much he misses those crows’ feet already.  
 

“Problem?”  
 

John startles and looks up at him with apologetic eyes.  
 

“No- I mean, it’s perfect, there’s no denying it. Harry’d love it, no doubt. But I-” and here John flushes slightly, shifting his ‘bad’ leg again and Sherlock realises what the matter is.  
 

“You’ve only been invalided recently. Your only form of income is your army pension and you are unsure whether or not you should be buying something this expensive when you barely have enough saved up as it is.”  
 

  
_Harriet must not work. Lazy? Injured? He deserves better._ Sherlock brushes away this ugly thing rearing its head and concentrates on the way John’s ears have gone red.  
 

“I – well, yes, to be frank. I’m not sure my pensions going to be able to handle this. It’s quite a blow to the little I’ve saved up... I’ve been looking for a flat you see – can’t stand the bloody place the army’s set me up with – and I’m not sure spending this much on my sister’s birthday should trump a place to live.”  
 

Sherlock’s mind has frozen, his heart thumping almost painfully in his chest as he recalls the way John spoke about Harriet – _loud, attention seeking, a pain in the arse_ – because, oh. _Oh._  
 

“Your sister”

“Hmm?” asks John, still staring at the price tag on the bracelet.  
 

“Your _sister!_ It’s always something!” Sherlock cries, trying his best to keep the – _not joy, definitely not joy. Glee? Yes, fine_ – glee out of his voice. He fails apparently, because John’s looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes and the corner of his mouth is twitching up just the slightest bit.  
 

“You thought Harry was my girlfriend or something, didn’t you?”  
 

“Of course not”  
 

“Yeah, you did” but John’s grinning at him now and Sherlock can’t help but return it, his cheeks doing that damnable flushing thing again at the huff of laughter that escapes his customer.  
 

“Yes, alright, fine. How much?”  
 

“Sorry?” John’s voice is still brimming over with amusement and Sherlock immediately forgives him for not following his train of thought.  
 

“How much could you afford to spend on the bracelet?”  
 

“I – are you – no, I couldn’t. I don’t take charity, Sherlock.”  
 

“John,” and Sherlock’s voice has dropped to something almost serious and he keeps eye contact as he asks again. “How much?”  
 

“I – god, I don’t know. Eighty? A hundred quid? I’m... I’m not exactly rolling in it at the moment. I’ve got a bit put aside, but like I said. I’d quite like a place to live other than the shoebox I’m in at the moment.”  
 

Sherlock is almost jumping for joy at this point and he wonders briefly if his enthusiasm might put John off. Somehow, he doesn’t think so.  
 

“Perfect. This is perfect!”  
 

“Sorry, what’s perfect?”  
 

Sherlock takes the bracelet and places it in its box and then, with his back turned to John, quickly and efficiently wraps the small box in a ribbon before placing the whole thing gently into a gift bag. He speaks over his shoulder as he does so.  
 

“I’ll sell it to you for eighty, John. Really it’s fine. I insist.”  
 

“What? No, Sherlock I can’t – I won’t accept charity.”  
 

“It’s not charity. You’re not the one who will be wearing the bracelet, your sister is. Just don’t tell her I sold it to you for cheaper.”  
 

“Sherlock, selling it to me for cheaper would be knocking ten or so pounds off the price – not bloody halving it!”  
 

Sherlock shrugs, turning back to John with his bag.  
 

“There you are. Just... think of it as a sale.”  
 

“Won’t you get in trouble for this?”  
 

Sherlock snorts and tilts his head in the direction of the counter, which has the words SH Jewellery embossed into the wood in flowing, golden letters.  
 

“Oh! You- you-”  
 

“Own the store?” says Sherlock with a dimpled smile ( _and this is insane, he never smiles, not really and here he's been doing it almost unconsciously since he started talking to this strange, wonderful man, what the hell is wrong with him?!_ ) “Yes, John, I do. I can give sales to whomever I choose.”  
 

John stares at him for a long moment before shaking his head, seemingly giving in to this apparent mad-man with a jewellery store. Sherlock tries not to seem too triumphant as he tolls up the purchase. All the while, John is staring at him like he’s a puzzle and Sherlock thinks that might be why his stomach is swooping the way it is. He is unused to being the centre of attention – usually _he’s_ the one trying to work out other people. 

 

Yes. That must be it.  
 

The transaction is complete and they both just stand there for a moment, looking at each other.  
 

“Well,” Sherlock brings himself to say after he feels the moment has gone on long enough. “I hope your sister likes her present.”  
 

John smiles then, his – _beautiful, sapphire_ – eyes lowering from Sherlock’s. For a second, Sherlock thinks it might be embarrassment, thinks that John is feeling bashful – but then his gaze and his mind focus and he realises that John’s eyes have fallen to his hands; he’s checking Sherlock’s hands for a ring. He’s barely made this deduction before John has stepped forward and reached out to press a hand to the back of Sherlock’s neck, pulling him to lean down over the counter and meeting him halfway.

It’s a soft but unyielding press of lips, and Sherlock’s hands flail for a slight moment before he regains his balance and one rests on the counter, the other moving to cup John’s cheek before stroking up into his hair. John sighs at the movement and his lips move against Sherlock’s more determinedly, his tongue flicking out to taste the crease of the jewellers lips. A soft moan at the taste and he does it again, before pressing a harder kiss to the bow of Sherlock’s upper lip and pulling away.  
 

Sherlock doesn’t open his eyes for a long moment – _when did that happen? Feelings become more intense without visual accompaniment? Must test this theory... preferably with John? Same subject. Yes_ – and when he does it’s to see John’s face only a few inches from his own, flushed red all the way up to his ears.  
 

  
_Fascinating; only his ears went red when he was embarrassed earlier, but now his cheeks have flushed also. Another sign of embarrassment? Or perhaps arousal?_  
 

Sherlock shook that thought from his head just in time to hear John mutter “Ah. Right. Um – thanks. For, um. Y’know. The bracelet” before he turned and all but ran from the shop.  
 

Sherlock stared dazedly after him and it was only after the door had swung shut behind the good doctor that he thought to call out “You forgot your walking stick!”

 

~

 

 

It is a few days later and Sherlock has nearly given up hope that John would be coming back for his cane – _psychosomatic, he quite obviously doesn’t need it anymore_ – when the door to _**SH Jewellery**_ opens, and in walks John. 

  
Sherlock immediately leaves the – _stupid, idiotic customer. Shopping with his wife as she looks at rings (no doubt thinking about an upcoming anniversary) and he’s looking at a pair of earrings. The style is all wrong for her; ruby wouldn’t go with her colouring and besides, she’s wearing topaz earrings; clearly a Sagittarius. So, he’s shopping for his lover whilst he’s in the same shop as his wife. Idiot_ – man looking at earrings to meet John at the front counter.

  
“John” he greets, and his smile is shy without him realising it.  
 

John nods at him in return, ears turning red as he stumbles over his words slightly.  
 

“Sherlock, hi. I – um. I left my-”  
 

And Sherlock is already pulling the walking stick out from behind the counter where he’s kept it for the four days since John left – _four days since they kissed_ – and the doctor smiles gratefully as he takes his cane back. He doesn’t go to lean on it immediately and Sherlock, trying to get John to stay just a little bit longer, comments.  
 

“Doesn’t look like you need it,” he says and – _oh, that’s intriguing_ – John’s flushing again, his ears red and his cheeks just a touch ruddier than they were a moment ago.  
 

“I um. I haven’t. Not since Friday,” John admits and Sherlock nigh on _beams_ at him.  
 

“Really?”  
 

John nods, his own smile twitching at the corner of his mouth – _you’ve kissed there, had those lips against yours, his taste was there then your but you licked it away, so get more_ – as he digs around in his pocket.  
 

“I found this, later. In that bag you gave me” John says, and oh. _Right_. Sherlock had honestly forgotten about that. He'd had other things on his mind and as he looks down at the piece of paper he’d slipped into John’s bag, his own handwriting seems to glare up at him crookedly.

 

  
**You said you’re in need of a flat. I’ve got my eye on a nice little place in central London.**  
 **Together we should be able to afford it. The address is 221B, Baker Street.**  
 **Meet there next Wednesday, 7pm.**  
\- SH

 

“Oh. Yes, that,” says Sherlock, and John giggles unexpectedly.  
 

“Did you seriously invite me to flat with you through a note?” he asks and Sherlock shrugs, because, well. _Obviously_.

"Well?” he asks, because John’s still standing there and giggling madly and the idiot man is glaring at them from his place over by the earrings but all Sherlock wants to know – all Sherlock really, honestly want to know in this moment – is if John will be sticking around.  
And when John grins his eyes crinkle and Sherlock thinks that they’re brighter and have more sparkle than any gem he’s ever seen.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see you tomorrow evening then,” John says, eyes of sapphire and smile of pearls and Sherlock nods and once again watches the ex-soldier exit his shop, leaving Sherlock feeling just a touch dazed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He waits until the stupid man and his wife have left before beginning his own search through the rings.


End file.
